


innit like looking in a mirror?

by thasmins



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Smut, just to give humour in the actual events of this story, like a tiny bit in the beginning, that one where romana regenerates into yaz bc she thought she was so pretty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 14:58:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17368037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thasmins/pseuds/thasmins
Summary: “That’s what’s disorienting. Yaz, innit like looking in a mirror?”





	innit like looking in a mirror?

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this dumbass headcanon in my head for months now and finally!!!!! it's a fic now
> 
> purely meant for my self-indulgence, enjoy this sort-of crack fic

Yaz groans. Perfectly normal reaction when one is pinned against a velvet mural wall, another body so close to her, both creating tense heat from their radiating forms that makes the air she breathes feel so thick.

The woman  _ claiming _ her -- she literally snatches the young traveller away from a group of men who were about to get a little too touchy -- sinks her teeth just beneath her jaw, and Yaz is just masochistic enough to have a whine leave her sinful tongue. There’s added tonguing when the mess of long sandy hair trails down her neck, stopping when she hits the collarbone, and then she nips. Yaz sighs just loud enough.

“M’sorry I had to pull that on you,” she says once she’s left a mark that won’t disappear until a couple of days have passed. “I saw you having a nice chat with my best employee and then those men came, and I reacted…”

Yaz gazes wonderingly at this stranger, one such whose arms are still on either side of her body, with no clear way of escaping. She’s under the influence of maybe the equivalent of six kamikaze shots, six too high on a normal day.  If she wants to, she could take one of the woman’s wrists down and knee her on the shoulder.  _ If  _ she wants to.

“Are you the boss of this place?” she asks instead, noting the woman’s word choice of  _ best employee. _

“You could say I own it, yeah,” the woman replies.

Even if the music’s too loud, and it’s music that she’ll never willingly listen to (trap in a 26th century British nightclub in a spaceship, really?), she understands the woman’s words as if the world around her had gone silent. Yaz wonders if it’s an effect of this alien cocktail she downed right before, or if it’s the warmth right between her thighs.

Well, her eyes are really fixated on those soft lips. Plus, the cream suit, despite under flashing neon lights, is feeding her, let’s say,  _ preference _ of women in powerful positions a little too much.

“Are the men still there?” Yaz asks, too focused on the woman’s features to look around.

“They should’ve gone by now.” Two glances, left and right. The woman glances back at her. “Why?”

This time, Yaz does grab the woman’s wrist, but it’s to plunge the delicate fingers beneath her black denim skirt. The woman’s face shifts, and she nods in understanding.

“Romana,” she says, pushing the thong aside deftly, and her voice lowers a register, “whisper my name when you’re going to come, I must keep a professional reputation around here.”

Warm,  _ oh so warm _ , digits enter where it’s most needed, and it’s so quick that the initial shock of the feeling has Yaz digging her nails on Romana’s shoulders as she kisses the woman fervently, vibrating a moan into her mouth.

 

* * *

  
  


The Doctor is brimming with excitement. Yaz can tell, even if the Doctor looks like she acts like it all the time.

Because she’s actually jumping. She doesn’t run, she skips. Her arms shake so much that her own wrists strain just by looking at the alien’s enjoyment.

“She’s gonna be here any second now!” she cheers, jumping like a kid excited for candy.

“Who’s coming over?” asks Graham.

“Oh, she’s so brilliant, Graham,” the Doctor says, “she’s really famous among my people. Former Lady President!”

“Wait, President?” Ryan says. “Like -- kind of like America’s President? Trump?”

The Doctor’s face disfigures. “No, nothing like that insolent scum!”

Yaz is about to clarify Ryan’s statement when the TARDIS doors swing outward. A woman with sandy blonde hair noticeably dressed in a pink overcoat and white scarf enters gleefully, wonder in her eyes. 

Strangely enough, Yaz feels her conscious mind tugging at her, as if she recognises this woman. She’s seen so many people through her job as a police officer already.

“Hello Doctor!” she greets in such a cheery voice. Yaz’s spine shivers.  _ I know this woman.  _ “I’m afraid I have come to bear terrible news to you.”

The Doctor’s excitement stops flat. “Oh no, what’s wrong?”

“I’m about to regenerate!” the familiar woman glances at her wristwatch. “About 2 minutes, give or take.”

Yaz has heard about regeneration. From what she can recall of the Doctor’s wild ramblings and books she’s read out of boredom, it is how a Gallifreyan of high position cheats death essentially. Every cell in a Gallifreyan’s body reconfigures itself to point where their body, their psychology, and their personality changes. Even without regeneration, a Gallifreyan’s lifespan is thrice the average of a human living in 21st century.

Then, it hits Yaz. This woman is another Gallifreyan, a Time Lord perhaps! Another one of the Doctor’s kind, whom she thought are all gone.

“Wait, Doctor, you told us your people were gone?” Graham points out, like he’s taken the words right out of Yaz’s mouth.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. Like every single thing about my entire life is.”

“Bit more is much of an understatement, innit?” Ryan quips.

The Doctor simply sticks her tongue out.

Yaz couldn’t make one witty comeback. The more she looks at the strange woman -- now established Time Lord That Isn’t The Doctor -- the more she rethinks about her own memories. The Doctor’s right. She’s famous. It may just extend farther than just the Time Lords. Cos yes, she recognises the woman, but her brain is betraying her when she needs it the most.

“We’ve met before, have we?” she says.

The woman glances in her direction, and she smiles. “Yes, we have, though I’m not sure you’d want to remember the circumstances we were in.” She checks her wrist again. “But I’m afraid you’ll need to step back, all of you. Don’t want to cause anyone harm.”

The Doctor nods, pulling back Yaz and waving Graham and Ryan to follow the woman’s instruction.

“Okay, Romana, you’ve always excelled at handling your regenerations, though you’ve only done it once. Ready when you are.”

_ Romana.  _ Yaz recognises the name.

With wonder, Yaz watches as a soft golden glow builds up in throughout Romana’s body, and as it gradually gets brighter, Yaz has to hover her arm over her eyes. 

Romana’s arms are spread like wings, her head tilts up to the ceiling. Once the golden light is bright enough, the regeneration energy explodes, diffusing all her cells. More regeneration energy keeps the cells from going too unstable as they’re rearranging, moving as fast as gas particles, recoding her own DNA. All of this, in a matter of seconds.

The new Romana gasps dramatically, falling back towards the console of a foreign TARDIS, the Doctor’s.

Yaz, out of the comfort of the Doctor’s arms, walks forward. A mass of dark brown curls rest where sandy blonde hair used to flow, and her hands are darker skinned.

“Hello? Are you alright?” Yaz asks.

Graham steps closer as he squints his eyes. “Oh blimey. Now that’s something you don’t see everyday.”

“Woah,” Ryan says. “Time Lords can do that?”

Romana’s brow furrows. She flinches when she tries to open her mouth, but she attempts again. “Oh, stars, that’s so disorienting. No, wait, agonising. That’s a better word choice.”

“Oh, fuck,” the Doctor swears under her breath.

When Romana turns around, Yaz would definitely agree to the Doctor’s statement if she’s able to talk.

“Ah,” Romana says. “That’s what’s disorienting. Yaz, innit like looking in a mirror?”

  
  



End file.
